


Coming Out Of The Closet

by Fedora Of Adorableness (TheTimelessChild0)



Category: White Collar
Genre: Accidents, Desperation, Embarrassment, Episode: s03e10 Countdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24472888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTimelessChild0/pseuds/Fedora%20Of%20Adorableness
Summary: He really should've asked first...
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17
Collections: WC²





	Coming Out Of The Closet

**Author's Note:**

> This is the 50th story I've written on this account since my hiatus, Oh My God! Thank you so much, all who have read, given kudos and especially commented. You have been _instrumental_ in getting me here...Merci et bravo bravissimo! _*gives imaginary hugs*_

The plan was supposed to be simple. Sneak up to the penthouse, swap the paintings, parachute down. The first part was, for reasons that kind of insulted him, quite easy. Peter got suspicious almost immediately. 

“DO. NOT. LET. HIM. OUT,” Agent Burke stressed at the front desk. “He is not sick, thirsty, nor does he have to pee,” he said with confidence. Honestly, he didn’t know. 

And as it happened, he was wrong in the last aspect. Neal called Moz right away, slightly earlier than their schedule. 

He’d assumed it would be a really quick operation, and thus kept that particular _concern_ on the backburner. Now, it was at the forefront of his mind.

He needed a distraction. 

“Apropos our op name, I could tell you about the history of the filibuster,” Moz suggested. “Shoot,” he agreed, sighing while thinking the exact same word about his situation. 

That was the problem with running cons on his employers. Two worlds colliding, complicating the structural side of things. Bodily functions didn’t ordinarily factor in, all plans were either shorter, or involved enough wiggle room before leaving the penthouse, to _go,_ even if just for the hell of it. 

Immediately following that train of thought, the man who could squirm out of any situation, squirmed _because_ of the situation.

Thankfully it wasn’t that bad yet. 

Neal utilized the elevator music to its maximum capacity, trying not to look at the floor number increasing at snail speed.

* * * * * * * * *

The swap went without a hitch, although with a hitched breath or two. 

Neal began to wallow internally at the propensity of villains displaying their goods on tables sans chairs..

Because he wasn’t looking at the clock, nor working as fast as he normally would, he hopped down from the balcony just a second too late. 

He appreciated the pressure of the harness, support the tightening of muscles. 

_Well, that escalated quickly,_ he mused, noting that he was no longer “fine”. 

Elliot Richmond entered his apartment through the stairs, immediately spotting the cables through the clear glass window. 

He walked calmly and elegantly outside, smiling at his intruder. 

“Training for the Olympics, Mr Caffrey?” he joked. 

“Would you believe me if I said I slipped and fell?” Neal tried. 

“Into a harness that just happened to be hanging over _my_ balcony, without my _notice_? Don’t think so,” Elliot proceeded to pull Caffrey up towards him. 

Fortunately, Neal and Mozzie had a contingency for if someone, even Peter, discovered him mid-descent. Neal began counting in his head, waiting for the moment Moz would appear in one of lower balconies, ready to grab it in the air and go. 

Meanwhile, he wriggled. The uneven tugging of Richmond, was not exactly helpful, the way it moved his harness, and leaving his ‘ _Krugerrands’_ loose. 

“You can't squirm your way out of this one, kitten,” Elliot mocked. 

“I’m not trying to, this is what’s called a diversion,” Neal panted. As soon as the Brit turned his head, Neal flipped him a precise kick to the jaw, bumping his shoulder into the railing. If he took an extra second while climbing the railing to sit on it...no one had to know. 

* * *

Mozzie was infinitely grateful for his yoga practice, after catching the Degas mid-air. 

Neal kept his hand firmly in his crotch, sprinting down the stairs to the elevator. 

He leaned on the railing once inside, legs straight, but practically super-glued together. 

He stood up briefly, letting out a spurt. So, he crossed his legs, not daring to uncross them until he was all the way down. Suddenly, the elevator stopped and switched direction. Since the rooftop elevator only goes down, the Feds had to call one up from a lower floor... specifically, the one Neal was currently in. 

All he could do was buy time, so he tapped a random button in the middle of the building, and returned to the stairs. 

He kept leaking with every step but managed to keep the damage within the size of his fist, which let him pull his jacket down to cover it. 

When he reached the bottom, his gaze immediately went towards the closest bathroom, but alas, the guards moved to meet the agents when they would arrive at the ground floor later.

So, with the speed of a cat..burglar, Neal ran like a cheetah, below the front desk and into the room he broke out of earlier. 

The second he locked the door behind him and turned around, putting the key back in his pocket, it was game over. 

The dam broke, pee hurtling forward like a tsunami into his underwear and subsequently, trousers. 

“Right on schedule,” he commented. He found himself too exhausted from holding back to do so for another second. He had to go too. _damn_. BAD. 

With one hand on the back of his head, and the other holding his hat over his eyes, he waited it out. 

_I definitely should’ve gone before I left_ , he asserted, noticing the time it was taking. 

⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫

_Oh no._ Neal heard footsteps approaching the door. Peter was coming to let him out. Like there was anywhere he needed to go anymore...or wanted to. 

The room had no escape options. So he just wiped a few tears out of his eyes, awaiting the reaction. 

Peter unlocked the door to the closet, and opened it. Ahead of him, was Neal Caffrey, with very visibly wet trousers and a puddle. 

“Took your time,” Neal snivelled, looking down with his hands in his lap. 

“Oh my god...Neal, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know...I just figured,” Peter tried to apologise, as the “hostile witness” stepped out slowly. The FBI agent put his jacket around Caffrey’s waist without a moment of doubt. 

  
“Thanks,” Neal said quietly. “It was kind of my own fault,” he admitted. 

Burke frowned. “Check your pockets,” 

Peter did so, and saw Neal waving the lock-picking tools he thought he’d confiscated. 

“It’s no one’s fault,” Peter resolved. 

“I can live with that,” Neal smiled shyly. 

They got him some new clothes from the van, getting Jones and Diana out ahead of time with a single command. 

_At least they still had the painting._


End file.
